From the Machine
by FemaleSpock
Summary: 'Aarch, Aarch, Aarch, Aarch, Aarch. People say the name so reverently, so rhythmically, it's like a horrible song Artegor just can't exorcise from his head.' Aarch/Artegor, AU-ish.


From the Machine 

**Disclaimer: ****I do not own Galactik Football and I make no money from this fanfiction. **

He wakes to the droning of the holo-radio, to the buzzing voice speaking of rumours of a new team forming; to the sound of that name, that wretched name.

Aarch.

He scarcely believes his ears. He's been gone for fifteen years and now he decides to come back like nothing happened, like he hadn't literally disappeared off the face of the planet. Ever since he'd gone off to be treated for Smog Poisoning, no-one's seen anything of him, heard anything of him.

Yet, now here he was again.

Artegor doesn't quite trust his ears. He's been waiting for this moment for so many years, now that it is here, it feels unreal.

The idea that it might be true infuriates him; his hand curls into a shaky fist, acidic blood courses through him, it all rushing to his head. They aren't his legs that walk to the shuttle; they feel mechanical and more alien than the Smog that still rattles underneath his skin.

It all passes in a bit of a blur- he sees some thugs and asks them to 'take care' of Aarch. He even manages to ignore their comment about how Aarch was the best Striker Akillian had ever had, he is sure of his own superiority.

He doesn't need Aarch back in his life after all these years. He doesn't need to prove it to him, not after all this time; he doesn't need to risk losing at his hand.

He can't lose (to) him again. He has to rid himself of Aarch instead.

He knows that with Aarch, things have a habit of not sticking, so he calls Adium as back up. It seems typical that she doesn't have control over the situation; she's fairly competent, but Aarch is just a force of nature.

He hates that look on her face when he speaks his name. She doesn't have the right to look so stricken, she always says that she's past it; she no longer has a claim on Aarch.

The wounds Aarch had inflicted on her were shallow in comparison to his; she's healed, she's written him out of her life. Aarch was _his _demon to defeat, and his alone. He feels sure that he's the only one who thought of Aarch every day that he was gone.

From being absent for so many years, Aarch appears to be everywhere now, he's all anyone talks about, he's all anyone cares about.

Aarch, Aarch, Aarch, Aarch, Aarch. People say the name so reverently, so rhythmically, it's like a horrible song Artegor just can't exorcise from his head.

"I have better things to do than speak about a ghost!" he explodes when Callie Mystic interviews him for the news. He regrets saying it as soon as the words pass his lips; an unexplainable queasiness settles in his stomach and stays there for the rest of the day.

He knows that he's forgotten something but he's not sure he wants to remember.

He watches Aarch's team carefully; he has 'eyes' everywhere recording everything, he sees everything that happens in Aarch Academy (of course Aarch would teach them somewhere named after himself).

Mostly he sees mundane things (like how Rocket is yet another fawning Aarch fan- it must be doing wonders for Aarch's ego seeing the posters his nephew has up of him) but also useful information- like how Tia has the Breath.

All of it just feeds his hate, it encompasses him, it swells and surrounds him like a bubble. It's been with him so long, he doesn't realise how fragile it is.

Time goes by and everything is the same. He's so sick of this but he doesn't know how to stop. He's sick of waking up every night in a cold sweat, sick of the strange dread that mars everything that he does. The dread of that man and the power he has over him.

He can't stand the pitying looks people give him every time he talks about Aarch. He can't stop any of this, not when the grief of being left still weighs so heavily on him.

He's always had other people carry out his dirty work but he just can't stand it anymore, he punches Aarch clean across the face.

The next time he sees Aarch there isn't even a mark. Victory seems impossible when even his hardest hit can't leave a scratch. He's untouchable.

Aarch comes to him at midnight, he slips into the Shadow's Archipelago unnoticed, comes without explanation. In his delirium he doesn't question it; he allows Aarch's hands to roam over his shivering flesh, and stares up into those cold blue eyes of his. It's all he can see, this is all he could feel, the galaxy was so small when he seems to fill up all the space.

"Aarch, Aarch," his voice cracks as he says the name aloud.

He wakes up sweating, the apparition of Aarch's touch still upon him. He stumbles in darkness to the sink, to splash cold water on his feverish skin. Had that been real? The Smog feels oily in his veins but he knows he can't live without it; it's the only thing getting him through this.

He needs to get out of there; his body knows where he's going even if the brain doesn't.

He goes to the stadium on Akillian and finds it a mere skeleton covered in gleaming white ice, everything preserved as it was all those years ago, abandoned; surely this isn't right?

The Red Tigers (back when they had been his) had played a match against the Snow Kids here. Aarch had defeated him yet again here. He sinks down into the snow, the cold water biting his body, and allows this graveyard to take everything from him.

Even now he can hear Aarch's voice echoing throughout the Stadium.

**This was so difficult to write- I had such a clear picture in my head but I'm not sure how clearly this came across. It was inspired a rewatch (that I'm still in the middle of) of Season 1 and Artegor's quote that about having better things to do than speak about a ghost. I should also mention that the title is referencing Ryle's 'ghost in the machine' idea and 'From an Occult Diary' by August Strindberg (which was a definite influence when writing this). But yeah, review please!**


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